


Bedsheets (or, Nobody Needs To Know) (or, A Part For The Public)

by Evedawalrus



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton was bi as hell and no one can convince me otherwise, Awkwardness, Bisexual Male Character, Blushing, Cute, Gay, Gay Male Character, Huddling For Warmth, Internalized Homophobia, Just dont, Lams - Freeform, M/M, also never look up frostbite images cause shit, am i going to?, and Cuteness, and now im posting it at 1 am, and so I did, and some good old, at 1 am, at first, cause im an idiot, could i wait till tomorrow?, despite the title there are no sexytimes, i felt like actually writing something for my favorite ship, if you can call it that ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), just cuddling, nope - Freeform, probably, then its just
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:45:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8639410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evedawalrus/pseuds/Evedawalrus
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is an idiot. 
John Laurens is scared.
They are both cold.





	

Alexander never could quite get used to the cold. 

Winters on Nevis were usually just a name. If the sweltering nights were a touch less muggy, it was either barely noticed or welcomed. Heat was simply the constant; the hot, wet, Caribbean air cultivating the island's rich plantations but serving nothing but a bother to its people. Most nights Alexander spent with his covers thrown off, trying to soak in as much coolness possible. 

It had been a harsh shock when he had arrived in New York. It was October when he had first stepped off the ship and a brisk wind greeted him. The snow that fell upon the grounds of King's College had been a startling revelation in it of itself, interesting him so much he had pulled himself from his studies to explore the pristine white landscape. 

While the venture brought back a sense of childish glee he had not felt in a long while, Alexander unfortunately found out the drawbacks of frolicking in the snow a day later. The nasty cold that found itself settled in him was ultimately of no harm to the teenager, but gave him a fair bit of distaste towards the biting chill. 

Still, after years of shivering through the harsh northern winters, Alexander Hamilton would state he had become used to it. His body disagreed. 

And Valley Forge was no ordinary winter, where Alexander might have found himself hiding away in his home, wrapped up in a blanket as he continuously took breaks to warm his hands by the fire in order to keep writing. 

The soldiers had nicknamed it "The Valley of Death" for a reason. The snow refused to cease in its endless downpour; the howling gales that battered against their flimsy shacks only served to make the snowflakes sharp projectiles that stung every inch of uncovered skin. If a soldier wasn't huddling around the piddling fires, they were wrapping themselves in any scrap of cloth they would find, praying to find some semblance of sleep that night. On bad nights, you wouldn't find a single soul out of their cabins; no man would be stupid enough to voluntarily be working at such a late hour.

Alexander Hamilton had always defied expectations in the stupidest of ways. 

As a single candle flickered dangerously, Alexander strained to see his own words in the shaky light. When Washington had dismissed his aides-de-camp hours earlier, the man had come over to his desk, where he had been writing furiously, and put a firm hand on his shoulder. 

"Hamilton. Your work is done for the day. Get some sleep, son."

The man had then proceeded to remove him from the writing cabin, much to his chagrin. Miffed, Alexander stomped off to his own shared cabin and proceeded to completely disobey the General. That had been while ago, how long he couldn't quite remember. He could only remember the countless letters he had read, copied, signed, written... A shiver ran up his spine as a bit of cold air slipped into the cabin and brushed the back of his neck.

With a snap, Alexander blinked away the haze that had begun to form in vision. No, he couldn't stop now, he couldn't! There was still so much work to do, to drop his quill now would make him lazy, shameful. Besides, Laurens hadn't even returned to the cabin yet, so it couldn't be that late... 

Thoughts swam through his head as he suppressed a yawn, clenching his teeth in order to stop that damn chattering. Then, shaking his head to clear it once more, he dipped his quill into the ink once more. And if Alexander noticed how his fingers shook as he wrote, he ignored it. 

There was still so much work to be done. 

 

John Laurens was up far too late. 

It didn't even matter what had kept him up now, at least not to him. As he staggered through the ankle-deep snow, hunched over against the brunt of the wind, John began to think just how nice being able to lie down would be. While the blankets they possessed weren't luxurious by any standard, they gave warmth, something John had been craving all day. Squinting through the sheets of white, he felt something relax in him as he recognized his cabin. But then he frowned. 

The door of the cabin was open. What was more, there was light inside, glowing feebly through a small crack in the doorway. 'Why would someone need a candle at this ungodly hour?' the question raised itself in John's head. In addition, who would be so absent minded to leave their door open- 

John's eyes widened. 

Hamilton. 

With a burst of speed, John entered the cabin to see Alexander Hamilton bent over his desk. Of course it was him. John sighed heavily, walking over to Alexander. 

"Hamilton," he started. But the man didn't move. "Hamilton, what possessed you to stay up this-" The words died in his throat as John looked over his friend's shoulder. 

Hamilton's face was blank, his skin incredibly pale. His cheeks were, in contrast, a furious red, the tip of his nose tinged blue. Hamilton's hands rested on the desk, one still clutching a quill. They looked a worrying shade of grey, and trembled violently against the smooth wood. 

Alexander's normally striking blue eyes were cloudy and unfocused, half-lidded and barely blinking; even when John, fear creeping up his spine, shook his shoulders and repeated his name. 

"Alexander? Alexander, speak." John could feel his heartbeat pounding uncomfortably loud in his ears, something like panic buzzing beneath his skin. The man only weakly fluttered his eyelids, mumbling, "Nnn.. Hv'ta fnish..." 

"Alexander, you utter buffoon!" How could he be so idiotic as to work God knows how long in this kind of weather? John remembered how he had to push the man relentlessly to get the slightest bit of sleep. With a wince, he realized he didn't know if Alexander had gotten any sleep for the past few nights. Food was scarce at the moment, and it was well-known that Hamilton's work ethic extended far beyond normal standards. 

As quick as it came, the anger burning in John's belly subsided, something sour taking its place. He felt a sting on the back of his neck, whipping around to see the cabin door quivering open as snow creeped into the room. John wasted no time in slamming it closed, but the reminder only served to worry him further. The door had been open all night, and Hamilton somehow had been so committed to his work he had neglected to preserve his pocket of warmth. The small room was already far too chilly for John's liking, but he was wrapped in heavy coats and coverings; Alexander only wore his basic clothes and boots, leaving far too much of his skin exposed. 

The sour feeling had turned into a coiled spring, its nervous shivering sending tremors up John's spine. "Jesus Alexander, what do I do, what do I do?" he stuttered, the buzzing under his skin flooding through his veins. The medical cabin was on the other side of the encampment, and he simply couldn't take Alexander out into that wild storm. John's eyes flicked about the cabin, wishing desperately for an answer to appear from nowhere. Images of stagnant, unmoving blue eyes flashed through his mind, making him flinch. Then, an idea realised itself in his mind, not so much a sudden light as a smack to the head.

Warm. Alexander needed warmth. 

The goal taking root in his mind, John removed the quill from his friend's shaking hand and shifted him away from the desk. Then, he picked the smaller man up, carrying him bridal-style the short distance to the bed before carefully and gently placing him onto the mattress. He took Alexander's boots off, pouring out some melted snow that had somehow found its way inside. Finally, once the freezing man was lying partially undressed on the bed, John tucked both Hamilton's and his own blanket around him. 

For a few minutes, John didn't move. Then he realized he himself was still completely clothed. That, and his own bed now had no blanket or pillow. Glancing at the small form of Alexander under the covers, John removed his own coat and boots, stripping down to his beeches. Something sharp curled in the pit of his stomach, but it was ignored when Alexander's still-trembling body let out a small, pathetic sound.

With a deep breath, John clambered in under the blankets, lying face to face with his friend. Alexander's eyes had subconsciously closed, but his hands were still clenched tight and shaking. 

For a few seconds, John looked at those beautiful, slender hands. Then, he took one in his own. 

It was a small shock of cold that made him flinch, nothing else. It wasn't the sensation of having that small, tender palm in his, nor was it how those fingers almost instantly loosened and pressed themselves against the warmth of his own skin. 

For a minute, John was frozen. Then, his thumb began running small, reassuring circles against the back of Alexander's hand. He shifted to lie on his back, never letting go of that still-cool hand in his grip. 

He could feel his side burning, incredibly aware that Alexander's slender, tanned body was so, so close. John listened to the howling winds that still beat against the outside of the cabin, trying and failing to ignore the burning, helpless feeling in his chest. It was a flighty, bubbly sensation, as if his heart had become detached and was bouncing about his rib cage. There was a juxtaposition in his lungs; the darkness of the cabin seemed to press down on him, but at the same time they felt so light and free... 

John did not think of the soft, ink-stained hand that rested on his chest, the very contact sending jolts of electricity down his spine. He did not think of freckles, of unruly red hair, of shining, sparking blue eyes that seemed to stare into his very soul, and, unlike so many in John's life, liked what they saw. His breaths grew quick. The pressure on his bare chest seemed to double, choking the fluttery sensation. 

And suddenly there were legs pressing against his. Feet curling around his own, determined to come in contact with as much pleasantly warm skin as possible, hips and a chest pushing themselves to his side.

A head settled itself onto his shoulder.

John couldn't breathe, his body stiff. His heartbeat was drowned out by the roaring in his ears, his cheeks and neck heating with what was sure to be a bright red blush. Heat blossomed across his body as the cool cabin became a furnace that seemed dead set on burning him to a crisp. Electricity rushed through his nerves from every spot in contact with that tan skin, those too-prominent hip bones poking against his side as they settled next to him. 

It was too hot, too hot, blood rushing heart pumping the sign of the cross on the door- No. This wasn't right. This was wrong, this was too far, this was a sin he was a disgusting sinner he deserved to burn in hell for- For a second, John could only hear echoing memories of words that slipped under his skin like needles, letting him bleed and bleed and- 

One of the hands in his grip shifted; slender fingers intertwining themselves with John's. Alexander pressed himself closer, nuzzling into John's neck with a small, contented sigh. 

"M'love you," came a small, muffled voice, whispered into the crook of his neck.

 

 

“….Oh.”

 

John breathed out the single thought. Those words rebounded over and over in his emptied mind. He could feel soft breathing against his skin. Something blossomed in his chest, right below an ink-stained hand.

 

In the early hours of the morning, John fell asleep to Alexander's heartbeat. 

He was not cold that night.

**Author's Note:**

> GAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY
> 
> (and then John wasn't stupid and lived and went back to Alex after the war and Eliza was like 'yo im down with polyamory' and they were all happy together and Alex never had an affair with Maria but instead helped divorce her from James Reynolds and Phillip didn't die and everyone lived happily ever after


End file.
